So, today pretty much sucked. Not completely, mind you, but mostly.


I went to bed early, around midnight. After unsuccessfully trying to get to sleep, I found myself puking my guts out on the bathroom. Thinking I'd eaten something that disagreed with me, I brushed my teeth, filled up my water glasses and went back to bed.

Repeated that process about four times over the next five hours.

By the time the sun was out, I was miserable and out of ideas on how to handle seemingly never-ending dry heaves. My body heat had all but completely shut down, a sure sign that I was in poor shape. Thankfully, there was 7-Up in the house. I held that down for quite some time until a final volley ended the matter for good. I lay there and ached for the rest of the day. Despite sixty-four ounces of Gatorade, I was too exhausted to hydrate myself properly and let myself get pretty fucked up. My head only stopped aching sometime after Chapelle's Show, thanks to rediculous amounts of water and a single bowl of Corn Pops, my only solid food for the day.

Melissa called. I cancelled our scheduled hanging out, lest she catch whatever the fuck got me.

Before that, Tafoya called. I told him I'd have to call him back when I knew more.

Before that, Bridgett called. She offered. I tempted. We conspired. This was the high point of my day. Apparently, I'm horrible. ;)

Delerious, I watched The Royal Rumble and this past Monday's RAW. That was way too much wrestling in one sitting. Later, I watched The Transporter and The L Word. Good stuff.
I go now to either fall unconscious or to watch two week's worth of Smallville and Angel, assuming I didn't fuck the tapes up.